


The shadow of he who crawled

by sdlucly



Series: Too Much [2]
Category: The OC (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Character Study, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-27
Updated: 2018-11-27
Packaged: 2019-09-01 12:43:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16765393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sdlucly/pseuds/sdlucly
Summary: Oliver, put the gun down





	The shadow of he who crawled

**Author's Note:**

> Re posting from livejournal. Originally posted in May 2006.

_January 19th, 2004_

Sandy stands up from the plastic chair, unable to sit still, to wait, not to say anything, not to do something. He turns around, glances over his shoulder at his son, sitting at the further end of the line of chairs. Seth has his face in his hands, and Sandy can hear him whimpering in the back of his throat, a low and barely audible sound that breaks his heart, over and over again.

"I'm sorry," Sandy whispers, but the sound doesn't carry through.

_Oliver, put the gun down_

Sandy blinks, taken back, hearing Ryan's words in his mind, and when he closes his eyes for a breath, he can see Ryan reaching forward, nodding slightly, trying to calm Oliver down and get the gun and--

_bang_

\--the sound takes Sandy by surprise, and he opens his eyes in shock, looking around, but he's in the hospital; Seth's sitting as far away from him as possible and his other son's still in surgery from a shot to the head.

His eyes fill with tears and he shakes his head, takes a step back, one after the other, until he's against the wall. How-- How in the world--

Sandy chuckles, hysteria on the edges of his psyche, and he can't quite ask himself how is it fucking possible that he let his son walk into a room where there was a kid with a gun?

I put him there, Sandy thinks, bitterly, bile on his tongue and nothing but despair around him. I put Ryan in that room. I got Ryan shot.

The knowledge of that statement breaks him, all over again.

Sandy glances at Seth, watching him for a moment, making sure his son's still breathing, and it's only in the soft rise of his back, in the tremble of his hands, that Sandy's sure Seth's still there.

He swallows, something cold on his chest, and when he runs the thought through his mind, it takes him a moment to realize that he thinks, has always thought, of Seth as his son and Ryan as Ryan. He shakes his head, tells himself that no, he has thought of Ryan as his son before. But he can't quite remember an exact memory, something he has said, saying it so to Ryan, and his left hand moves to his mouth, cups it tightly, and he shakes his head again.

"I'm sorry," he whispers, because whispering and wishing and asking for forgiveness is all he has now.

_If you put the gun down--_

Ryan's voice is all he can hear now, Ryan going over and over the same phrase, _put the gun down, put the gun down--_

And the voice in is head changes, it's no longer Ryan's, but his own--

_because I'm your father and I'm responsible for you--_

He told that to Seth, earlier this very same day, about the thing with Summer and Anna, and Sandy should have told that to Ryan, he should have done something. He should have fucking done something-- He did it wrong. He did it all wrong. He shouldn't have waited for Ryan to come to him, he should have moved, he should have gone and done something, he should have pushed until Ryan gave in and talked, and let him help, and Sandy should have listened. God, he should have acted and he should have listened and before everything--

_you said if I needed help, I could come with you_

Ryan had tried to talk before, and Sandy didn't believe him. He actually thought Ryan was being a jealous boyfriend, more worried about Oliver spending time with Marissa than anything else. God. And then, again Ryan talked, finally, he asked for help and Sandy thought he was doing the right thing by going to Oliver's place with him, and then Seth wanted to go along, didn't care about Anna enough to stay, just picked up his jacket and left, and then the three of them went and it didn't matter; it was worse, Sandy doing something, anything, only made it all worse. Ryan got shot.

_you think I made a mistake by bringing him home in the first place?_

How could he even say that to Kirsten? How could he even think that? They were having lunch together, in her office, and this horrible thought just made its way into Sandy's brain and Sandy thought it was right, it was reasonable doubt. And it's like it was wrong from the very beginning, he can't do anything right. He did it all wrong, one thing after another, mistake after fucking mistake--

God, he doesn't deserve Ryan. But worse of it all, Ryan doesn't deserve this. Ryan doesn't deserve a guardian who can't call himself Ryan's father. Ryan doesn't deserve a man who can't even keep a 15 year old kid from getting shot.

Sandy tries to breathe, to get air into his deprived lungs, but it hurts, everything, his chest, his hands as they tremble, his eyes, his temples, everything. He shakes his head and there're tears down his cheeks, and he groans in the back of his throat, a sound that isn't heard, and covers his mouth with his hands.

It takes him long moment to get himself together, to breathe in and feel air making its way into his lungs, and it's only when he straightens that he realizes that he was squatting against the wall. He glances at Seth, and Seth's so lost in himself that he doesn't realize Sandy was breaking down, in the middle of the hallway, waiting for something, a word from a doctor, to be told Ryan's condition.

He breathes in, again and again, but the tears won't stop, won't slow down, and he looks at his watch. It's only ten after ten. They left the house sometime after nine. Could it only been an hour since this whole thing started? Could it only been an hour since Ryan -- _his son_ \-- walked up to him and told him, _"you said if I needed help, I could come with you"?_ It feels like forever.

No, no, forever was watching Oliver shoot. Forever was watching Ryan crumble to the floor and Seth reaching for him and Sandy just standing there, frozen on the spot, his heart cold, his limbs unresponsive. Forever was sitting in the ambulance and watching the paramedics work on Ryan, trying to get a pulse long enough to reach the hospital. Forever was standing outside the glass doors and seeing doctors and nurses and glimpses of Ryan's face and blood, blood everywhere, before being ushered to this hallway and told that they had taken Ryan to surgery. Forever is now, sitting here, and later, waiting, and feeling like he's losing his son, minute by minute, and there's nothing Sandy can do.

"Sandy?"

He looks up, around, and then there's Kirsten, running down the hallway, her eyes red and tears running down her cheeks and she throws herself into his arms. He holds her close, tight, hugging her with all his might for a second before her questions start.

She pulls away and looks at him, blue eyes dark and hard, and her pain has taken second place to her concern. "What happened? My god, Sandy, what the hell happened?"

And here's where he begins to die, he knows, because he didn't tell her more than that Ryan had been hurt and they were on the way to the hospital and meets us there before closing the phone when Kirsten was in mid question. For that, for leaving her without a specific answer, he's going to pay now.

He opens his mouth to speak, to tell her, to say something, but the words die in his throat, and he can only close it again. How's he supposed to explain this, everything that happened? How's he supposed to tell her that their son's been hurt, is in surgery right now? How can he? How can anyone?

He shakes his head, disbelief in his eyes, in his very face. He lifts his left hand to his eyebrow before letting it fall down to his side. He looks at the floor before looking up at her. He closes his eyes before opening them again. Nothing means anything. He's not himself anymore. He's not Sandy Cohen, lawyer and father of two children. He's a man standing in the middle of a hallway, hoping against hope, praying under his breath, for God to spare one of his kids. He's nothing but a shadow asking for a miracle. He's nothing in the great scheme of things and he has never felt so powerless in his life.

Kirsten's eyes harden and she narrows them and it's plainly visible that unless she's told something, this moment, this second, Sandy will see just how hard a mother will find for her young.

"Sandy, what happened?" She pauses, expecting his answer, but none is forthcoming. He's nothing, he hears in his mind. He's nothing, and nothing can't speak. "What the hell happened?"

He opens his mouth once again, tries to come with words to explain that which was never possible, to put into words their worst nightmare to the exponential power, to make it sound not as scary as it is, as it might be, as it can be. There's nothing inside him that can explain as such.

It's movement that makes them turn around, to watch Seth shakes his head, standing not even ten feet from them, before making his way down the hallway into the bathroom at the end of the hall.

"Seth!" Kirsten calls, but their son doesn't turn around, doesn't seem to even hear his mother. She sighs, shakes her head and looks up at Sandy once again. "Sandy--"

"He was shot," he says, and the words still have enough power in them that makes him tremble, from the inside out, his hands shake as he tries to reach for her but she's too frozen to come to his arms.

"What?" The word from her lips is nothing more than breath, leaving her cold lips, and he blinks, tears falling from his eyes.

"He was shot," Sandy repeats, his hands going to his temples, palms wide spread, and even as he says the words, they don't seem to make sense, to mean what they do, and they feel like coldness seeping from his very pores into his blood stream and into his heart. "Oh, god, Kirsten. He was shot. Oliver... he had a gun, god, he had a gun and he shot Ryan. He shot him in the head, and Ryan collapsed and he was on the floor--" The words die in his lips, everything's too cold, as he closes his eyes shut and groans in the back of his throat. "Oh, god, Kirsten." He looks at her and she just stands there, looking back him, her blue eyes empty. "Kirsten, I'm so sorry. We shouldn't have been there. We shouldn't have been in Oliver's penthouse. I should have--"

There's nothing to say to this, nothing to try to fix this, nothing but empty words.

"No," she says, a shake of her head, her eyes cold.

"Kirsten--"

"What did you do, Sandy?"

Sandy's breath leaves his chest in a gasp, a shake of his head, and he can't help but take a step back. "I didn't-- Kirsten, I swear, I didn't--"

"What did you do, Sandy?" Her words are bitter and harsh, her tone low, and it feels like they cut through his very skin as she keeps speaking. "You let him walk into that place, knowing Oliver had a gun?"

"I didn't--" He shakes his head, again and again, denial on the tip of his tongue and being bitten back at the end, because that's exactly what he did. He takes another step back.

"You let him get in harm's way?"

"Kirsten--"

"You let him get shot?"

"Please--" The word's spoken as a plea, his eyes filled with tears, and he doesn't move even as she comes toward him with as much strength as she has.

"You let him get shot!" Kirsten moans, hitting Sandy's chest with her closed fists, and he doesn't fight back.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," he says, whispers, pleads, catching her hands in his, pulling her toward his chest, but she doesn't want to be stopped. She moves and fights and tries to break free, but the shock's too much, too grand, and she breaks down in tears. Sandy holds her close, his arms around her, and when she stumbles forward, he goes with her, leaning against the wall, resting there, with her crying on his chest.

She cries for a moment, no more than a couple of seconds, and while Sandy still has his arms around her, she pulls away, physically and, in the glimpse of her eyes that he can catch, emotionally as well.

"Where is he?"

Sandy blinks, confused and shocked and surprised and all the synonyms he can think of. "What--?"

"Where's Ryan? Who's treating him? What did they--?"

"He's in surgery," Sandy manages to get out, blinking. "They told us to wait here. They said they'd send someone when--"

"I need to talk with a doctor, then." Kirsten takes in a deep breath and looks around, her eyes finding a doctor walking by and she reaches for him.

Sandy can see her reaching for the man and turning him around and demanding answers from a doctor that looks too young to have graduated. But before she can do that, there's a nurse approaching them.

Kirsten notices her too, and she swirls on her place and focuses on the woman with all her attention. "I'm sorry, I need to speak to--"

The woman smiles, almost placating soothingly, and says, "Family of Ryan Atwood?"

Kirsten nods, closing the distance between them. "Yes, I'm his mother, Kirsten Cohen. How's he?"

She gives Kirsten a small smile, then looks at him, and out of the corner of his eye, Sandy sees Seth walking out of the bathroom and down the hallway. Seth hurries his pace when he notices the nurse, and Sandy turns to look at the woman as well.

"He's in surgery right now. The doctors are working on him, but the surgery will take hours, the damage's too extensive." She nods, looking comforting and understanding. "It might be better for you to go home, rest tonight, and we'll call you as soon as we know something."

Kirsten shakes her head. "No, no, we're not leaving. We're gonna stay here."

"Mrs. Cohen--"

"We won't leave," she says, her tone harsh, and the nurse gives her a long look before nodding.

"Alright then. You can stay here, I'll come and look for you when I know more." She smiles once again, nods, and then turns around to leave.

Kirsten sighs, soft under her breath, and doesn't even look at Sandy. Sandy watches with pain in his chest, his eyes stinging so bad it hurts somewhere inside, as his wife turns to look at Seth.

"Seth?" She asks, her hand reaching out for him, but Seth shakes his head, pulls away, taking a step back.

Sandy feels like he's being sucker punched for the second time in as many minutes. Kristen doesn't seem to take it any differently. Seth only takes a step back and sits on the furthest seat from them.

Kirsten nods to herself, almost as if accepting that her own son can pull away, freeze her out, and ride this by himself. Sandy watches her, just standing there, with her arms around herself, and he takes the chair on the other end of the line in the small area. He waits for her to make her way toward him, for them to talk about this, to reach for one another. But she does neither.

She sighs, takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly once again, before leaning back against the wall and looking at the floor. Sandy blinks, confused and hurt. She doesn't look up at him, she doesn't talk to him, she doesn't even acknowledge his presence.

Not knowing what else to do, Sandy leans forward, his elbows on his thighs, his hands on his hair. Everything inside him is a jumble of thoughts and emotions, from hurt to worry to despair, and when he looks up, Kirsten's still looking at the floor, and turning to his left, Seth's still looking at his hands. Sandy sighs, wanting to find a way to reach for his family and for a minute, fearing it might be impossible.

_Oliver, put the gun down_

Ryan's voice catches him by surprise, and Sandy gasps, his heart hammering in his chest, and his hands clench onto fists in his hair.

 _Oh, god, please,_ Sandy can't help but think. _Please, just... don't do this. Don't take him away from me, not yet, not when I haven't even told him I love him, that he's my son._

He closes his eyes shut, seeing Ryan's face, the surprise in those blue eyes, and then blood around them, and Ryan falling to the group. Sandy opens his eyes in surprise.

He takes in a shallow breath, letting it out through tight lips. _If you save him,_ he pleads silently, _if you spare him, I'll spend the rest of my life making sure he's safe. I'll protect him._ The bitter knowledge that he was supposed to be doing that all this time catches his heart in an iron fist, clenching until all he can hear is his heartbeat ringing in his ears.

Still, he can't stop wishing, praying, pleading to the God that designed it for his son to be hurt, to be shot, to be taken away from his very grasp, for Sandy to know and realize just everything he has been doing wrong from the day Ryan was accepted as their child, yet the thought was never verbalize. Right now, Sandy would crawl for a miracle. He would crawl through fire for Ryan, this moment, this second, and irony of it it's not lost in Sandy, for he should have been doing that since the very beginning.

He breathes in and out, the air burning down his throat like acid. All they have to do now, he knows, is wait. And waiting is the worse part. He closes his eyes again, the prickling behind them intensifying, and all he can see is Ryan's face as he falls to the floor, and all he can hear is the sound of the shot being fired.


End file.
